
Glass. 
Book 



) ^/l/:4 



%^z 



MODERN ANTIQUES, 



•n 



MERRY MOURNERS. 



A FARCE 



XS TWO ACT.« 



BY JOHN O'KEEFE, ESQ. 



PHILADELPHIA 



PUBLISHED BY THOMAS H. PALMER. 



1823. 



is 



K 



DRAMA.TIS PERSONiK 



PHII.ApELriIIA 

Zir^f::^?:::::::::::::::::::^^^^^^ 

j^ey.. — *-^^'-""- 

^T !• . .....••••••••••-• Greene. 

SS^:::::::::::::::::::::......- ^-f 

Thomas • ^^^"«^^- 

Mrs.Cockletop Uvs. Frmicis. 

Mrs. Camomile • J.ejoue. 

^^^^"'^^ ..;./.... Greene. 

Frou^VeV;;;;;;;:^^^^^ : miss Ha^' 

Betty... ^'^ 



7^f? 



MODEIIN ANTQUES, 



MERRY MOURNERS 



ACT I. 

SCENE I — Mrs. Camo7nle*s house, 
enter mrs. camomile ind betty. 

3Ir8. Cam. Betty, any bod' here since ? 

Betty. No, madam, but hee's a strange ser- 
vant. 

Mrs. Cam. Mrs. Cockletoj desired me, as I 
passed along Charing-Cross, o enquire for one 
for her, at the Register-officf, and this is he, I 
suppose — ha, ha, ha ! she's tco fine a lady to look 
after these things herself. 

Betty. Walk up, young nan. \_exU 

enter joe^. 

Joey. Servant, (nods) 

Mrs. Cam. Quite a rustic! — how long have 
you been in town ? 
' Joey. Our town ? 

^fr8. Cam. London. 



lyiODERN 



[O'Keefe 



Joey. I thought ks how you meant our town ; 
I corned from Yorksop, in the county of Nor- 
folk, to get a placej 

Mrs, Cam, Youj name ! 

Joey. What of i|? 

Mrs, Cam. Whjt is it ? 

Joey. Oh ! my n^me is Joey ; but volks called 
me mr. Joey all thi way up ; — -that I comed up- 
on the coach-roof J for, as it's near Christmas 
time, all the insioe passengers were turkeys. 
I quitted our villjge, in a huff with one Nan 
Hawthorn, my sw 
jealous and saucy 



et-heart, cause why, she got 
jiven. 
Mrs. Cam, Thewages this lady gives to hev 



foot-boy are eight g;umeas a year. 

Joey. Guineas ! that won't do, I must have 
eight pounds. 

Mrs. Cam. Wdl, if you insist upon eight 
pounds — ha, ha, hi ! 

Joey. Oh ! I'm lired. (/ay« his hat and stick 
on the table) 

Mrs. Cam, Youpan give and take a message ? 

Joey. Yes, sure! (a loud knocking' without) 

Mrs. Cam. Th^ let's see— run. 

Joey. Where? , 

Mrs. Cam. To Ihe door, you blockhead, 

Joey, (goes to tie door and stands) Well, I 
he's at the door, wvat now ? 

Mrs. Cam. Thepeuce I open the street door. 

Joey, (going) OJi, here comes a lady. 

enter Belinda, in a riding-dress. 

Mrs. Cam. My dear Belinda ! Come up (t^ 
Joey) when you hear the bell. 

Joey. These gentlevolks don't mind what 
trouble they give a poor zarvant man. [^exic 



Act I] ANTIQUES. 5 

Bel. My dear friend, I've quitted Southamp- 
ton boarding-school without leave, though, {lays 
her hat on the table) 

Mrs-. Cam. My sweet girl, I'm very glad to 
see you — but is this a prudent step ? 

Bel. To be sure, when I was kept there so 
long, against my will, by my aunt. 

Mrs. Cam. Ah, Belinda, confess the truth ; 
wasn't it to see your uncle's nephew, Frank, 
that you've scampered up to town ? 

Bel. Ha, ha, ha ! *pon my honour you're a 
witch ; but suppose so— why not ? you and I 
were schoolfellows t'other day, yet here you're 
married. Apropos, how is your dear husband ? 

Mrs. Cam. The doctor is well. 

Bel. You're already happy with the man you 
love, while I'm kept at a boarding-school, when 
I'm able to teach my dancing-master. 

Mrs. Cam. Why then, my dear Belinda, since 
your last letter, I've been planning schemes, 
how to make you happy with the man you love. 

Bel. My good creature, do tell me. 

Mrs. Cam. You know if your uncle mr. Cockle- 
top's tooth but aches, he fancies he'll die direct- 
ly, if he hasn't my husband doctor Camomile's 
advice ; he's the grand oracle of his health, the 
barometer and thermometer of his animal sys- 
tem : — now as the doctor is at Winchester, on 
a visit to some of his old college chums, and 
won't leave his good orthodox bottle of old 
Port, to visit him here in London, he shall visit 
the doctor at Winchester; if we can but 
get your uncle to leive town, on that hangs 
my grand scheme foi the establishment of you 
and Frank; your aunl's maid mrs. Flounce, and 
mr. Napkin the butler, are my confederates. 



6 MODERN [O'Keele 

Bel. Oh, charming ! but I must know it, 
though. 

enter joey, sfa7ids so?ne time miite. 

Joey. Well? 

Bel. And well ? 

Joey. I'm corned up, as you bid me. 

Mrs. Cam. But you shouldn't have come till 
you had heard the bell. 

Joey. And, wounds, it's ringing yonder, hard 
enough to pull church steeple down. 

Mrs. Cam. aiid Bel. Ha, ha, ha ! 

Mrs. Cam. Joey, carry those to your master ; 
[gives hi?n a basket of /z/««/s)— plants and sim- 
ples, culled for him by the doctor. Your uncle 
will now be a botanist, as Avell as an antiqua- 
rian. 

Bel. Ha, ha, ha ! — but my aunt's new-fangled 
rage for private theatricals, are, to the full, as 
unaccountably ridiculous, as my crazy uncle's 
passion for musty antiquities. 

Mrs. Cam. Come, be cheerful, my sweet Be- 
linda, for I'm going there directly, on your af- 
fairs. 

Bel. My kind friend ! 

Mrs. Cam. Call a coach, (^o Joey^ ivho takes 
up. his stick and puts on Belinda's hat) Ha, ha, 
ha ! why you've put on the lady's hat. 

Joey, intakes off hat., and compares it with his 
oion) Ecod ! one would think the lady had put 
on mine. \_exeunt mrs. Camomile and Belinda 

Joey, (flaying hold of basket) Your London 
ladies are so manifed., with their switch rattans, 
and their coats and waistcoats, and their tip- top 
hats, and their cauliflower cravats, that, ecod I 



Act I] ANTIQUES. 7 

I sKall be in London a long time, before I know 
a man from a woman. 

[^takes up, the basket and exit 

SCENE II — Mrs. Cockletop's dressing-roo7n — mrs, 
cocKLETOP discovered dressing — flounce a^- 

tendi7ig. 

Mrs. Cockle. What a strange incident, my 
marrying this old mr. Cockletop 1 'pon my hon- 
our, was I single, I'd have the most beautiful 
theatre in my house, and his nephew Frank 
should be the manager ; of late he looks at me 
in a very particular manner — I can scarce think 
it possible, for these features to strike any body 
with admiration. 

Flounce. Ma'am, those features must strike 
every body with admiration. 

Airs. Cockle. You flatter 'em. 

Flounce. Not in the least, ma'am — but what 
signifies your beauty, or my skill in setting it 
off? — my master, since he's turned his brain-— 

Mrs. Cockle. Ay, since my husband has turned 
antiquarian — 

Flounce. With his curiosities, foreign cockle- 
shells, mouldy farthings, and all his old-fash- 
ioned trumperies — I dare say he'd sell you for 
the wing of a butterfly. 

Mrs. Cockle. Flounce, I'll take you to see 
Lear to-morrow night, at lord Rantum's private 
theatre. 

Flounce. Thank'ee, ma'am; but miss Toepit's 
maid told me, all of them, except your ladyship, 
made a strange piece of bungling work of their 
nlav there last Wednesday, 



8 MODERN [O'Keeie 

Mrs. Cockle. Work ! oh, heavens, if Shake- 
speare could have taken a peep at them !— -ha, 
ha, ha !— Romeo and Juliet the play — the hero,^ 
on breaking open the tomb, totally forgot what 
he had to say next ; in vain the prompter whis- 
pers the word ; poor Juliet might have remained 
in Capulet's monument till doomsday : at length, 
impatient, (for it grew monstrous cold,) I softly 
bid him speak, why don't you speak ? — ■//<?, tak- 
ing it for what he should say, with all the fer- 
vor of distracted love, bursts out " speak, 
speak, why don't you speak ?" Ha, ha, ha 1 

enter joey, ivith the basket^ nvhich he throws on 
the toilet. 

Joey. My first piece of service in my new 
place. \_exit 

Mrs. Cockle. Ah i (^screa77is) 

enter mr. cockletop, ivith a scroll of parchmenr 

Mrs. Cockle, (^angrily) Astonishing, mr 
Cockletop ! you won't even let me have my dres 
sing-room to myself. 

Cockle. Oh, mrs, Cockletop, what a prize 1 
I have bought one of the long-lost books of 
Livy, a manuscript so capitally illegible, that 
no man on the globe can distinguish or read a 
letter of it ;— let's see what change he has given 
me. (reckons money) 

Flounce. Full of snails, (to the plants^ fiingini 
them off the table^ knocks the money out of Cockle 
tofi*8 handy and exit) 

Cockle. The botanical plants from doctor Ca- 
momile I carefully pick 'em up, every leaf has 
the virtue— 



Act I] ANTIQUES. 9 

enter frank, in a riding' dress. 

Frank. Will they heal my wounded pocket ? 
Qiick^ up, the money) 

Cockle, (^takes the ?noney from him^ Eh ! what, 
you lizard ! — the valuable simples I 

Mrs. Cockle. Do, my dear, let poor Frank have 
a little money ; give him a few guineas. 

Frank. Ay, sir, a few guineas could never 
come in better time, as I'm just whip and spur, 
you see ; hey, spank to Southampton. 

Mrs. Cockle, {alarmed) Pray, Frank, what 
business have you there ? 

Frank. What, but to see my lovely cousin. 

Cockle, glutting up, the money) Eh ! 

Mrs. Cockle. Oh, is that your busine^ss ? 

Cockle. May be you like— • 

Mrs. Cockle. Ay, do you admire my niece ? 

Frank. Admire ! I love her to distraction. 

Cockle. The sweet girl I doat on myself I 
{aside) Get out of my sight, you locust. 

Mrs. Cockle. Love her ! after all my fond 
hints to him. (aside) Pray, sir, give me leave to 
express my obligations to you, when I was re- 
hearsing Imogen with you t'other night, and 
was to have fainted in your arms — 

Cockle. Ay, you villain, you stepped aside, 
and let my dear wife tumble backwards, and 
knock her fine head against the brass fender. — 
Take a double hop out of your two boots, you 
jackdaw ! how dare you stand before me, with 
your horse-whip in your hand ? 

enter flounce. 

Flounce. Ma'am, mrs. Camomile. 
B 



10 MODERN [O'Keel 

Mrs. Cockle. Sir, command your nephew tu 
think no more of my niece ! love another, you 
amateur ! — stand from the entrance ! 

[exit in a fiassion^ Flounce following 

Frank. Why, my dear uncle, you are really a 
good-natured old lad, but for this nonsensical 
passion for antiquities, in which you have no 
more judgment than my boot. 

Cockle. What's that ? 

Frank. Didn't you give twenty pounds for 
the first plate ever Hogarth engraved ; though 
'twas only a porter pot from the Barley Mow ? 

Cockle. No. 

Frank. Didn't you throw a lobster in the fire, 
swearing it was a salamander ? 

Cockle. Yes, but that was when I was sick. 
In bodily health my mind is bright and polish- 
ed J but, you most audacious dromedary, tra- 
duce my skill in antiquities ! — Hark'ee I when 
you can prove to me, that it's possible I can be 
imposed upon in antiquities, that is, when I ^m 
in bodily health, I consent to give you Belii^da ; 
here's my hand on't. Begone ! your face i's as 
odious to me as a new copper half-penny. \^exit 

enter n-Exwtx-^c alls after mr. Cockletofi. 

Hearty, Sir, here's the receipt ! 

Frank. Ah, Hearty, you're my uncle's stew- 
ard, receiver of his cash, and yet do tip me a 
few guineas; cheat him a little, my honest fel-, 
low. ' 

" Hearty. Mustn't. 

Frank. Plague of the money, I*m sure I want 
it ; my friend Jack Frolic, the player, franked 
me into Covent-Garden— sat down in the up- 



Act I] ANTIQUES. 11 

per boxes, between miss Trump and mrs. Roll- 
about, when the cursed orange-woman thrust in 
her basket, with " sweet gentleman, treat the la- 
dies." 1 was obliged to clap my hand on my 
pocket, say, my purse gone, 'pon my honour ! 
no entering a public place for the light fingered 
gentry ; — so the ladies treated the sweet gentle- 
man. Coming home yesterday, caught in a 
soaking shower; " your honour, coach unhired ;'* 
in I jumps, not recollecting his dismal honour 
hadn't a shilling to pay for't; so, as the fellow- 
clapped to one door, out I pops at t'other ; but 
then I got mobbed by the watermen, and broke 
my nose over a post, running away from the 
link boy. 

Hearty. Why, Frank, I'll lend you my own 
money with all my heart. 

Frank. No ; before I strip you of what you 
may yet want to cherish your old age, 1*11 pe- 
rish ! — yet this is my Belinda's birth-day :— by 
heavens, I will wish, ay, and give her joy, though 
I foot it every mile to Southampton, and dine 
on water cresses, by the ditch side. \_exU 

Hearty. Spirited lad 1 I hope, by means of 
this letter, I shall be able to serve him. I'll 
sell my old master the small collection of odd 
sort of rarities I*ve made him ; but as his know- 
ing them to be mine may lessen their value in 
his opinion, this letter rouses his desire to buy 
them; then, if I can but make him believe 
* they're from Italy, or Herculaneum, or— • 

enter joe\, in a livery. 

You're the new footman ? 

Joev . Yes, I he's ; I've put on my livery. 



12 MODERN [O^Keefe 

Hearty. Here's a letter for your master ; give 
it to him directly, (gives letter, and exit) 

Joey. So I must give this letter, too ; ecod ! 
they're resolved, in London, to keep no cats that 
won't catch mice. 

enter nan, ivith a sweeping- brush. 

Nan. {singing as she enters) " A service in 
London is no such disgrace." {begins to sweep) 
Joey. Isn't that— 
J^an. Why, Joey! {surprised) 

Joey. Nan ! how glad I he's to see thee, {kis- 
ses her) 

JVan. But what brings you here, and in this 
fine laced coat. 

Joey. Why, I be fixed here, for a zarvant 
man. 

J^Tan. Zure ! lard, how comical ! and / hired 
here to-day as maid. 

Joey. Hills and mountains will meet ! O dear 
O— dear ! 

Man. Pm now sent in here, by mrs. Flounce, 
to do up lady's dressing-room, that it seems 
some clumsy booby has thrown leaves about'n, 

Joey. I'm not a booby, Nan ; I find you're as 
saucy-toiigued as ever. 

JVan. O la I was it you, Joey ? I ax pardon. 

Joey. 'Twas all along of your crossness I 
comed up to London. 

J^an. And 'twas your false-heartedness drove 
me to seek my bread here. 

Joey. Well, since good luck has brought us 
into one house, we'll never quarrel nor be un- 
kuid any more. 

M'an, Nor I never more will be jealous*— O 



Act I] ANTIQUES. 13 

ho ! you've had this letter from Poll Primrose ; 
oh, you deceitful — {snatches the letter from Joey ^ 
and breaks it open') 

Joexj. The devil ! a d'ye see what youVe done 
now ? this letter was for measter.— If I haven't 
a mind — 

J\l'an. (reads) " Sir, encouraged" — why Joey, 

don't be angry ; the first letter I get for my lady, 

you shall open for me, that you shall, [exit^ sing' 

ing- " Better my fortune as other girls do.** 

Joey. Ecod ! you've spoiled my fortune; what 
will become of me? — before I've time enough 
to be set down in my place, I shall be kicked 
out on't. 

e?iter frank. 

Frank. Where's Hearty ? (Joey gives him let" 
tcr — he looks at it) For my uncle ; how came it 
open I 

Joey. It's opened. 

Frank. Why, if it*s you that— do you know 
that opening another man's letter is transporta- 
tion ? 

Joey. Is it? then, ecod, I'll take the blame 
upon myself, rather than Nan should go to Bo- 
tomy Bay. {aside) 'Twas I broke it open, sir, 
■*— but I meant only to — to break it open— all ac- 
cident. 

Frank, {reads letter) " Sir, encouraged by 
your character, I shall, to-morrow, in person, 
offer you for sale some antique rarities." This 
promises something ; {aside) well, my lad, keep 
your own secret, and I'll bring you out of this 
cursed scrape. 

Joey^ Do, sir. 

B 2 



14 MODERN [O'Keei 

Frank. Any wafers here ? 

Joey. I believe there's some in that box ; but 
I'll get you a haperth. 

Frank. My old conceited uncle has engaged 
to give me Belinda, when I can prove that it's 
possible to impose on him in antiquities. This 
may do it, and bring me a convenient sum be- 
sides ; for, with all the ridiculous enthusiasm oi 
a virtuoso, my uncle has small reading, no test, 
but has a plentiful stock of credulity, {jwafers 
the letter^ 

Joey. Why, I could have done that myself. 

Frank. There, you dog ; stand to it stoutly 
(^gives Joey the letter) that's the very one you 
received. 

Joey. A thousand thanks, kind sir. (going-) 

Frank. But I shall want a disguise ; [aside) 
— hark'ee, you've put on your new livery since 
you came — where are your own cloaths ? 

Joey. In the butler's pantry ; for you must 
know, sir, when I comed I was waundy hungry, 
so I went there to get a snack. 

Frank. Quick ! go give the letter. 

Joey. Yes, sir. \^rxit 

Frank. Ha, ha, ha ! yes, uncle, if you have 
cash to buy antiquities, I'm a stupid fellow, in- 
deed, if I can't find some to sell you ; and, if I 
succeed, hey to Southampton, with the trium- 
phant news to Belinda. L^-^'^ 

SCENE III — Cockletoji^s study. 

enter cockletop, with spectacles on, reading let- 
ter yiO¥.Y following. 

Joey. That's the very letter ; I was desired to 
give it you ; I assure you, sir, it was not opened 



Actl] ANTIQUES. 15 

Cockle^ The things this learned man mentions 
here, are really very curious. 

Joey. Sir, here be mr. Napkin the butler com- 
ing. 

enter napkin. 

j\'afi. Sir, a man wants you there below. 

Cockle. Then, sir, do you send him up here 
above. 

JVap. (io Joey) Eh ! what are you idling here 1 
come, come, I'll show you the business of a foob 
man ; you must toast the muffins, for mine an(f 
mrs. Flounce's breakfast. 

Joey. I will, sir, and broil a beef-steak for my 
own. \_exit JVa/ikin, Joey folloivin^ 

Cockle. Only that my brain is for ever running 
on my wife's charming niece Belinda, (oh, how 
1 do love her ! I love every thing old, but girls 
and guineas :) I should certainly be a second sir 
Hans Sloane — I'd be a Solander, and a Mon- 
mouth Geoffry. Now who's this ? 

^t7Uer FRANK, disguised in Joey^s ^■>'st cloaihs, 
with a small hamfier on his shoulders. 

Frank. If my uncle knows me noAvr, he must 
have good spectacles, (aside) Measttr told me, 
as he told you in letter, he'd call on ypu to-mor- 
row with some rarities. 

Cockle, Oh, then you belong to the gentleman 
who sent nae this letter ; where does your mas- 
ter live ? 

Frank. At Brentford; but I he's from Taun- 
ton Dean, and, as I was coming to town to-day, 
lie thought I might as well drop them here. If 
you'll buy them, these be they. 



i6 MODERN [O'Keefe 

Cockle. Oh ! what, he's sent you, with the 
thing-^ that are mentioned here ? {fiointing to 
letter] 

Frank. I warrant 'em all waundy rich, he gave 
me such strict charge about'n. 

Cockle. Rich I ah, these sordid souls can't 
conceive that the most extreme delight to the 
eye of an antiquarian, is beautiful brown rust and 
leavenly green verdigrease. Let's see ; (reads) 
:he first is a Neptune's trident, from the Barba- 
:ina gallery. 
Frank. That's it. {^gives a toasting-fork) 
Cockle, (reads) One of Niobe's tears, pre- 
served in spirits. 

Frank, That — (gives afihial) 
Cockle. Curious ! — a piece of household fur- 
niture from the ruins of Herculaneum, compris- 
ing the genuine section of the Escurial. Pre- 
cious, indeed ! (aside) Section of the Escurial ; 
ay, then it must be in the shape of — 

Frank, That's it. (gives an oldgridiron) 
Cockle, [reading) The cap of William Tell, 
the celebrated Swiss patriot, worn when he shot 
the apple off his son's head. 

Frank. I've forgot to bring any thing even 
like that ; what shall I do ? (aside) I warrant 
it's here, sir. 

Cockle. I hope it is, for I will not buy one 
without all. 

Frank, Then all you shall have, (aside^ pre- 
tends to look in the hamfier^ but flicks up Cockle- 
top^ s hat\ andy ivith a penknife^ cuts out the brim) 
That's it, mayhap ? 

Cockle. Great ! this is, indeed, what the Ro- 
ixians called the Fi-kusj or cap of libejrty. (puts 



Act I] ANTIQUES. 17 

it on his head^ and reads) Half a yard of cloth, 
from Otaheite, being a part of the mantle of 
queen Oberea, presented by her to captain Cook. 
Frank. Zounds, I was iji such a hurry to get 
to work, that I've forgot half my tools. 
Cockle. Where's the cloth from Otaheite ? 
Frank. I dare say it's here, (feels the coat he 
has on) No, mustn't hurt poor Joey. Eh ! 
incuts off the skirt of Cockletofi^s coat^ while he^s 
ad7niring the things) belike that's it. (gives it) 

Cockle. What wonderful soft texture ! we've> 
no such cloth in England ; this must have been 
the fleece of a very fine sheep. 

Frank. Ay, taken from the back of an old stu- 
pid ram. 

Cockle. Speak of what you understand, you 
clown ; much talk may betray little knowledge. 
Cut your coat according to your cloth. 

Frank. Yes, sir, I cut your coat according to 
your cloth. I must fix him in his opinion, now, 
with a little finesse, (aside) Measter do expect 
fifty pounds for his balderdash. 
Cockle. Here's the money. 
Frank. No ; if he even thought you such a 
fool to give it, he must be a rogue to take it, 
but he sha'n't make me a party— I'll let him 
know I'm an honest man. Damme if I don't 
throw them in the kennel, and quit his service. 
(going to take them) 

Cockle, (hastily) Leave them there, and take 
the money to your master, or I'll make him send 
you to the devil, you thick-skull buffalo. 
Frank. Not a penny of it will I touch. 
Cockle. Here, my good fellow ; here's a gui- 
nea for yourself; there, (gives money) 



IB MODERN [O'Keefe 

Erank. Thank you, sir ; though I do think 
you're an old fool, and that you are most con- 
foundedly humnmed. 

Cockle. Old fool 1 get you out of my house, 
you scoundrel, or I'll — [takes ufi a blunderbuss) 
blow you to Taunton Dean, you dog — I will ! 
(Frank runs off) 

enter mrs. cockletop and mrs. camomile— 
they both scream. 

Mrs. Cam. Heavens ! mr. Cockletop, will you 
kill us ? 

Mrs. Cockle. Lord ! what's on your head ? 

Cockle. The cap of liberty. Oh, the super- 
beautiful purchase I have just made ! such a 
charming addition to my little curious collec- 
tion. Mrs. Camomile, you've taste ; I'll give 
you a treat. I'll show her all. {aside) 

Mrs. Cockle, {looking at the things) Heavens ! 
who has done this? 

Cockle. Pliny the elder. 

enter flounce. 

Mrs. Cockle. Here, take these, and fling 
them — 

Cockle. Lay your fingers on them, and I'll — • 
Strabo, Cambden, and bishop Pocock— Madam, 
you should — {to Mrs. Camomile) that is, you— - 
you do know— you're a dilitante. I say, you 
are a celebrated dili — and — now, what a fine 
discourse an F. R. S. would make on these, ma- 
dam, I say. 

Mrs. Cockle. Bless me! who has trimmed 
vou thus ? 



Act I] ANTIQUES. IS 

Cockle. Sir Ashton Lever. I wish your hus- 
band, doctor Camomile, was in town ; Tve here 
such a feast for the venerable Bede. Travellers 
come, and lay at my feet the wonderful fruits of 
their wise researches. Awake 1 prepare your 
understanding; here's a tear of — the devil 1 I 
forgot who cried this tear, (aside) Hem 1 it's a 
precious drop, preserved in spirits. 

Flounce. Ha, ha, ha ! 

Cockle. Get along, you most scandalous 
tongued-— I desire, mrs. Cockletop, you'll order 
your slip-slop out of the museum : — then here 
is a most valuable— (raA-es ufi toasting fork) 

enter joey 

Joey. Here, I'm sent to broil beef-steaks, and 
toast muffins ; the cook said mr. Frank took, 
and brought out of the kitchen, the— 

Cockle. They all cost me only fifty pounds ; 
this is a Neptune's trident, and this piece of 
furniture, from Herculaneum, the model of the 
Escurial, built in honour of st. Lawrence, who 
was broiled on — 

Joey. Thank'ee, sir; I was looking for the 
toasting fork and gridiron, [takes them and exit 

Flounce. Ha, ha, ha ! 

Cockle. What is that ? 

Mrs. Cockle. Why, mr. Cockletop, what have 
'*Vou been about here ? 

Mrs. Cam. Only look. 

Cockle. I believe I'm bit. Taunton Dean ! 
he was a rogue, (looks at his coat and hat) Is 
my face genuine ? 

Mrs. Cockle. Why 'tis an antique ; but in- 
deed, my dear, you don't look well. 



20 MODERN [O'Keeff 

Cockle. Don't I ? 

Mrs. Cam. This may help my scheme to get 
him out of town, {aside) My dear sir, I would 
not shock you, but you look — 

Cockle. Do I? 

Mrs. Cam. My husband, the doctor, often told 
me, that your bodily illness always had an effect 
upon your mind. 

Cockle. No man living understands my con- 
stitution, but doctor Camomile ; I must be (feel- 
ing his fiulse) phlebotomised. 

Mrs. Cam. When a gentleman of your know- 
ledge is so grossly duped, it's a certain sign — 

Cockle. It is, that I'm ill, or I never could 
have been taken in. 

Mrs. Cockle. Lud, I wish your husband, the 
doctor, was in town. 

Mrs. Cam. I advise mr. Cockletop to go to 
him to Winchester. 

Mrs. Cockle. Here, Napkin, order the horses 
to ; your poor master will go to the doctor at 
Winchester. 

enter napkin. 

Cockle. Ay, ay, to the doctor — to Winches- 
ter, [exeunt Mr. and Mrs. Cockletofi 

Mrs. Cam. Napkin — ha, ha, ha !— here's an 
opportunity for our plan ; you know as we've 
all, without success, repeatedly endeavoured to 
persuade the old couple to settle some provisioii 
on their niece and nephew, Frank and Belinda. 

JVap. Ay, we must try stratagem. 

Mrs. Cam. The excuse your mistress gives, 
is the chance of her having children of her own, 
whom she can't wrong by lavishing their patrl 
mony on others. 



P ;tl] ANTIQUES. 21 

JVafi. Ha, ha, ha ! then, to put her out of all 
hopes of that, as you have settled, we'll make 
her believe my master's dead, and, as I am now 
going into the country with him, leave that to 
TT»e. 

Mi's. Cam. I fancy 'twill be easy, as she al- 
"-eady thinks him ill. 

J^ap. And weak; heard him threaten to climb 
up the mouldering walls of Nettleston Abbey, 
•in search of a sprig of ivy or an ov/l's nest, and 
if I can't invent a story to bring the old gentle- 
man tumbling down — 

Mrs. Cam. Ha, ha, ha ! and make your mis- 
tress, the mourning widow, establish the dear 
amiable young couple, well and happy. 

JVafi. 'Twill be an excellent joke to laugh at, 
over their wedding supper— but I must prepare 
for the journey. 

Mrs. Cam. And I home, to comfort poor Be- 
linda : only do you act your part most dolefully 
natural, and we must prosper. \_exeunt 



ACT IT, 

SCENE I — Mrs. Camomile's house. 
enter frank, in high sfiirits^and joey. 
Frank. Hollo, mrs. Camomile ! here's a nick i 



a, ha, ha, honest fellow ; my horse is at the 

Uvery stables t'other side of Westminster 

bridge ; you'd best step on before me — have him 

out ready, vou'll not have a moment to lose, 

C 



22 MODERN [0»Keefe 

(exH Joey) Ha, ha, ha ! well, my mock cuxiiosi- 
ties may have a better effect on my uncle than 
Hearty's real ones, if they can help to cure him 
of an absurd whim, that makes him the dupe of 
impostors, flinging his money after things of no 
utility, (^iooks at his watch) Getting late : I'd 
like to see if mrs. Camomile has any commands 
for her friend Belinda, 

enter Belinda. 

then hey for my divine Belinda ! 

Bel. Pray, sir, whither in such a monstrous 
hurry ? -v 

Frank. My love, in the name of miracles howi 
did you get here ? 

Bel. You know we've the best friend in the: 
world in dear mrs. Camomile, the mistress of I 
this house. 

enter mrs. camomile. 

Mrs. Cam. Come, come, you happy pair ofi 
turtles — this room is the stage for a little come-| 
dy I'm to act with your aunt, of which I hope^ 
your union will prove the denouement. 

enter flounce. 

Flounce. Madam, my mistress is just drove 
up to the door. 

Bel. Oh, heavens ! if she finds I have run up 
to town, [g-oinff) 

Mrs. Cam. Stop, she'll meet you on the 
stairs. 

Bel. This way, Frank ; when my aunt come = 
in here, we'll slip down. 

Mrs, Cam. But, Belinda, you'll tell Franl: 



Act II] ANTIQUES. 23 

what we've both at, and trip directly home, and 
you and all the servants on with your sables. 

Fra?tk. Sables ! What, to celebrate my true- 
love's birth day ! no, now that my crusty uncle's 
out of town, and I have cash, I'll have such a 
^roaring entertainment at home— ^tol— derol lol. 

(sings) 

Bel. Will you hold your tongue, and come 
along ? (^/lulls him) [exit Belitida a7id Frank 

Mrs. Cam. If my little plot on their aunt but 
prospers — Flounce,run and desire Napkin to con 
over the lesson I taught him, and look as dis- 
mal as an executor left without a legacy. 

Flounce. And, madam, I'll bid him keep his 

handkerchief to his eyes, for fear an unfortunate 

laugh should come on his face, and spoil all — 

JHere's my mistress, madam, I wish you success. 

t \jxit 

enter mrs. cockletop, elegantly dressed. 

Mrs. Cockle. Oh Mrs. Camomile ! 

Mrs. Cam. Well, how do you do ? 

Mrs. Cockle. Our house seems so melancholy 
since my poor dear man has left town, that now 
I can't bear to stay at home. 

Mrs. Cam. (aside) And when he was at home, 
you was always gadding. 

Mrs. Cockle. I forgot to show you my dress, 
had it made up for Cordelia, in our intended 
play at Mr. Pathos's ; as you were not there, 
I put it on to consult your taste. 

Mrs. Cam. Oh my dear creature, I forgot to 
\ thank you for my ticket, but exeuse me, that an 
engagement — 

Mrs. Cockle. Ha ! ha ! ha ! You had no loss, 



24 MODERN [O'Keetc 

for our tragedy was converted into a ball^ — Lear 
you know was our play — which we got up with 
every care and elegance ; well, ma'am, Colonel 
Toper, who was to have played Gloster, having 
conquered too many bottles of Burgundy after 
dinner, (mi?nicks.) " No, damme, I be for none 
of your stage— I'll sit in the side boxes among 
the ladies, begin your play by yourselves"— So 
says my Lord Brainless, I'll make an apology, 
and I'll — "Ladies and gentlemen. Colonel Toper 
having been suddenly taken ill, hopes for your 
usual indulgence to accept a dance instead of 
the tragedy" — The fiddles struck up mrs. Casey, 
and audience and actors joined in a country 
dance — 'pon my honor, tho' I laugh I am ex- 
ceedingly melancholy. 

Mrs. Cam. You've nothing to make you un- 
easy, you are sure, that with my husband doc- 
tor Camomile, mr. Cockletop is in safe hands. 

Mrs. Cockle. Well, mrs. Camomile, it aston- 
ishes me how you can be cheerful while your 
husband's absent; but indeed its rather unfortu- 
nate when people are found with hearts of more 
sensibility than others. 

enter betty. 

Why, Ma'am, here's Mr. Napkin just come 
?:)elow. 

Mrs. Cockle. But is his master returned too ? 

Mrs. Cam. Well if he is not, why should that 
alarm you ? 

Mrs. Cockle. Then perhaps Napkin has 
brought word : where is he ? why don't he come 
up ? — Napkin ! {calls) Torture me with suspense 
' — Oh Lord, Mrs. Camomile, if any thing's tlx^ 
matter, I shall die. {agitated) 



Act II] ANTIQUES. 25 

enter napkin much splashed^ in a large travelling 
dresSy and seemingly fatigued. 

Nail. My dear good mastej- ! {crying') 
Mrs. Cockle.^ My husband — Oh Lord; speak, 
pray speak. 

JVafi. Madam, will you have him brought up 
to town, or shall he be buried in the country? 

(^wee/is) 
Mrs. Cam. Dead '. 

JVafi. I wish Henry the eighth had levelled 
Nettleston Abbey — my sweet master's thirst of 
knowledge — such a height — top of the old 
spire — his head giddy — feeble limbs—- stretching 
too far, a stone giving way — though I caught 
him by the heel — head foremost — corner of a 
tombstone. — dash — oh ! [iveefis and exit 

Mrs. Cockle. My fears are true ; I faint ; I 
die ; please to reach that chair. 
(Mrs. Camomile places a chair ; Mrs. Cockleto/i 
deliberately wifies it with her handkerchief, 
seats herself ; takes out a smelling bottle, ap- 
plies it, and affects to swoon.) 
Mrs. Cam. Nay, nay, my dear friend, pray be 
comforted. 

Mrs. Cockle, (^recovering) Comforted, did you 
say? how is that possible, my dear mrs. Camo- 
mile, when I've heard you yourself remark that 
mourning don't become me ; though, if I was to 
dress like Almeria in the Mourning Bride — 

Mrs. Cam. To confess the truth, I was afraid 
to tell you, but I before knew of this melan- 
choly event, and there that foolish boy, your 
nephew Frank, through his zealous respect for 
the memory of his uncle, has, contrary to sUl cvls- 
c 2 



26 MODERN [O^Keele 

torn and decorum, already ordered the whole 
family to put on the black clothes that were 
only t'other day laid by when the mourning for 
your brother-in-law expired. 

Mrs. Cockle. Madam, you're very obliging. 
Mrs. Cam. I see this loss bears hard upon 
your mind, therefore it mayn't be proper so 
soon troubling you with worldly affairs ; but 
now, my dear, you'll have no children of your 
own, indeed you should think of some establish- 
ment for your niece Belinda. 

Mrs. Cockle. I'll first establish my husband's 
nephew Frank, merely to show I prefer my 
dear man's relations to my own. 

Mrs. Cam. This will answer the same pur- 
pose, as Frank marries Belinda, [aside) Well, 
shall I tell the lad your good intentions towards 
him ? 

Mrs. Cockle. You're very good, I'll tell him 
myself; but I'll first consult you, my good friend, 
on the thoughts I have in my mind how to make 
him happy, but in my interview with the boy, 
I wouldn't have any body else by ; the hour of 
sorrow's sacred, it's a cruel world, and people 
luxurious, sensual, gay, and fortunate, have no 
feeling for the disconsolate widow. 

Mrs. Cam. My dear creature, endeavour to 
keep up your spirits. 

Mrs. Cockle. Ah, friend, what should a poor 
woman do that has lost so good a husband, but 
try to — to get a better, {aside) '[^exeunt 



Act 11] ANTIQUES. 27 



SCENE II — Cockletofi^s House. 

enter frank, elevated with wine, and beHnda, 
both in mourning — and nan. 

Frank. Ha, ha, ha ! this is the most whim- 
sical thought of your friend mrs. Camomile. 

Bel. Isn't it charming ? 

Frank. Your aunt, and indeed the whole 
family, except mrs. Flounce, actually believe 
that my uncle's dead ; this is your natal day, 
the birth of beauty ; I'll give an entertainment 
upon my soul, ha, ha, ha ! pert mrs. Flounce 
says, oh, sir ; I can't run any bills with the 
trades people ; but dem bills and credit, while 
we've money ; my uncle's curiosity guineas shall 
fly — illuminate the rooms, brilliant lustres, ge- 
r randoles and chandeliers. 

^ Jsfan. Yes, sir ! la ! now where's Joey to do 
'all this ? mr. John, light the clustres, jerridoles, 
and chanticleers, i^calls off) 

Bel. Lord, Frank, what's come to you ? 

Frank. Money and long separated friends 
have a joyful meeting ; prepare the saloon-bell, 
we will have a ball. 

jYan. Air the balloon, for master's going to 
play ball. 

Frank. And lay supper, then let Napkin send 
for a pipe and tabor, for a dance we must have, 
itol, lol, lol. 

Bel. But indeed now this is extravagance. 

Frank. Can't I afford a little extravagance ? 

an't my kind aunt to give me my uncle's cash, 

then my Belinda you and I go to church, and 

Hymen in his saffron robes shall lead us to the 

Irosy bower. 



-3 MODERN [O'Keefe 

Bel. For heaven's sake, Frank, a little decency 
before the servants ; how unfeeling must they 
think you. 

Frank. I'll show you the feeling of servants 
^'or such a master. 

enter thomas, and two m-aids in mournmg. 

Harkee ! Tom, the coachman, you know your 
master's no more. 

Thomas. Ay, sir, death has whipped his 
horses to their journey's end, to our great sor- 
row. 

Frank. Poor Tom! I'm told you're so grieved, 
you have sworn never to touch a drop of punch 
as long as you live. 

Thomas. Me ! I'll be damned if I ever swore 
any such thing. 

Frank. Ha! ha! ha! a jovial bout the ser- 
vants shall have. Fly, and every one bring in 
his hand something toward the good cheer of 
the night. \_exeunt 

SCENE III — a saloon illuming,tedj table and cloth 
laid. 

enter cockletop in a storm cafi. 

Cockle. All my doors open, this blowy night 
reminds me of the Lisbon earthquake, but my 
storm cap has protected me, — odd my not find- 
ing Belinda at Southampton, — I wish I had 
come into town over London-bridge ; that now 
is a sort of young ruin — but then over West- 
minster-bridge, to see my man Joey, mounted 
like the emperor of Morocco's Blackamoor— 
I'm not sorry Napkin left me, nobody knows 



Act II] ANTIQUES. 29 

now I've been after my sweet Belinda — how 
glad my loving wife will be when she finds I 
am come home and well. (Looks about) Eh, 
my dearee has company — this don't speak much 
feeling for my illness. 

enter thomas ivith fiiates^ not fierceivmg him. 

Thomas, While Napkin is uncorking the 
wine, I'll see if I can't spread a table-cloth as 
well as a hammer-cloth, (^lays plates) I won- 
der who drives my old master now in t'other 
world, — does he go up or down hill ? 

Cockle. Eh 1 now who has put Thomas my 
coachman into mourning ? As I left you a pied 
zebra, why do I find you a black bear ? {strikes 
him with a cane) 

Thomas. Get up1 {suddenly turning^ is terri- 
Jied and sneaks off) 

CocA:/e. What's all this about? 

enter nan luith sallad^ places it on tahle^ then 
plucks a bit. 

jYan. I loves beet root, {fiuts it to her mouth) 
Cockle. Yes, and so do I. Tell me, young 
woman, for whom are you in mourning. 

\_exit J^an screaming 
Cockle. Haven't I mistook the house? I be- 
lieve I'm at next door. 

enter napkin and flounce. 

j\''ap. Ha, ha, ha ! Flounce, if you had seeti 
how capitally doleful I played my part. 

Flounce. None of your dolefuls now ; mas- 
ter's out of town, mistress safe at mrs. Camo- 
mile's, the house to ourselves, and the young 



30 MODERN [O^Keefe 

pair — since mr. Frank will treat us to a little 
hop. 

J\tafi. Ay, Flounce, for music you know I*m 
no bad scraper. 

Flounce, No, Napkin, nothing gives so much 
spirit to a dance as a pipe and taboi'^^so send 
out and see if one can be had. 

enter two maids, and a footman, with a violin 

A''afi. My fiddle, John, (takes it) Now listen, 
Flounce, for our country dance ; only mind the 
violin, while I'll lift up Jacky Bull sprightly 
enough to move the dead ; ay, even to make our 
old master caper about, (plays^ servants join in 
the dance, in the midst of which Cockletop comes 
dancing before them — they scream and run off^ 
all frightened^ excefit JVapkin) 

Cockle. So, my good friend, I bring you into 
the country, you leave me sick, sneak away, 
and here I find you, like Nero at Rome, rasping 
your cremona ! explain what brings you all in 
black ; if any body's dead, why do you celebrate 
the funeral rites with feasting and fiddling ? and, 
if nobody's dead, why change my dove-house 
into a rookery ? (JVafikin fiuts a handkerchief to 
his eyes) Oh, then there is somebody ! who is 
it ? Eh, tell me !— vexation, a'n't I to know ? 
'sblood, are people to die in my house, and the 
master not to be told ? 

JVafi. What or who shall I say? [aside) 

Cockle. What am I to think of all this.? 

jVafi. Why, sir, from seeing us all in black — 
you're to think — that — that — 

Cockle. What? 

..Va/i., That we^re in mourning. 



Act II] ANTIQUES. ;>1 

Cockle. But for whom ? it can't be my friend 
mrs. Camomile, or my nephew Frank ; — oh, 
lord, if it should be miss Belinda — no, no, they 
wouldn't fiddle and dance for them : now there 
is one beloved person that I don't care a far- 
thing for ; (aside) yet I left her so well — I see 
they are afraid to shock me. Napkin, is it — 
is it — [JVafikin shakes his head^ and exits sloivhj 

Cockle. It is-my-wi-wi-wife — 'tis so ; his si- 
lence is a funeral oration, {cafiers about) 

enter joey, shivering as if cold. 

Joey. Oh, ho I it be a bitter sharp night ; my 
hands are stone. 

Cockle. Are you petrified ? I wish you were ; 
I'd put you in a case. 

Joey. But, sir, here we come home, find all 
our servants in mourning, and, when I ask for 
whom, they shake their heads and walk away. 

Cockle. Joey, it's for — for your mistress. 

Joey. My lady dead ! I believ^e I ought to cry. 
[aside — lifts up. the skirt of his coat) 

Cockle. The gentle friend and companion of 
my youth ! (ivee/is) 

Joey. Yes, I should cry. (aside) Oh ! (cries) 

Cockle. The best of wives ! (sorrowfully) 

Joey. The kindest mistress 1 (imitating) 

Cockle. Yet my servants' rejoicing shows how 
ill she was beloved. 

Joey. Yes, sir ; I said to myself when I comed, 
Joey, said I, you have got a good master but ^ 
bad mistress. 

Cockle. Stay, I'm released from her extrava- 
gant vagaries ;— why she'd give as much for a 
little toilet patch-box, as would purchase the 



32 MODERN [O'Keefe 

black letter Palace of pleasure ; her week's hair- 
dressing would buy me Colley Gibber's Fop- 
pington wig. Then her temper^— 

Joey. She was a wixen devil. 

Cockle. With her lace cap and her frippe- 
ries — her private plays, with her denouement 
and catastrophe. 

Joey. If I didn't suspect she played in private 
with that mr. Denumong, behind the tapestry. 

Cockle. I've no right to be so sad. 

Joey. Yes, sir, we mun be glad : ha, ha, ha. I 
he, he, he ! 

Cockle. The funeral over, I'll do what I've 
long wished — convert her dressing-room into 
my museum ; the room has an eastern prospect 
—the windows face Athens, though disgraced 
now by Cockspur perfumery and Fleet street 
japannery. — I'll remove her things out of it. . 

Joey. Kick them down stairs ; a'n't you man 
of the house ? 

Cockle. I am ! — you're but a boy, but I see 
you've spirit ;»— follow me to her dressing-room. 

Joey. Yes, sir — hem I [exeunt 

enter jmrs. cockletop and nan, in mourning. 

Mrs. Cockle. Every room, every article of fur- 
niture, only reminds me of my dear man. My 
beloved Frank's ill-timed mirth don't corres/pond 
with his haste in getting everybody into mourn- 
ing ; but indeed my poor husband was never an 
uncle to him. 

JVan. Oh, madam, you look so well in your 
weeds. 

Mrs. Cockle. Do I ?— Though I revere the 
memory of my late husband, yet his ridiculous 



Act 11] ANTIQUES. 3S 

passion for shells, fossils, and antique nonsense, 
was got to such an intolerable height, I was 
determined, on the first opportunity, I'd fling all 
his rubbish out ofthe house, and now I'll do it ; 
it's a good large room, and, I think, tastily fit- 
ted up, will make me a most beautiful little the- 
atre. The thought charms me, but, alas ! my 
charmer is no more, I'll instantly go up, and 
throw all his old coppers and crocodiles out. 
His museum {as he called it) is a most horrid 
place, but I will have it cleared out : do you 
come and help me. 

A''an. Yes, an't please you. \_exeunt 

enter joey, with bandboxes and toilet furniture, 

Joey. Ha, ha, ha ! if our mistress could but 
pop her head out of her coffin, and see what a 
fine rummage we have made among her falde- 
rals, trinketies, and ginglibobs. {reads the in- 
scrifition of a bottle') A, by itself, a, l-o,lo,t-i,ti,on, 
lotion for the face, {drinks) Face ! ecod, I think 
it's a good notion for the stomach ;— -the very 
thing I wanted to warm my gay little heart. 
They say, what people set their hearts on in 
this world runs so much in their heads, that 
even in t'other they can't rest if they should be 
disturbed. Maister says he'll give these to the 
flames; I'll ask him to give them to my flame, 
pretty Nan. — If she gets this here cap upon her 
pate, and our lady mistress was to come stalking 
in, with a candle in her dead hand— - 

enter mrs. cockletop, tvith a candle. 

and then sp's Nan, with a trembling voice, 
^ who's here V* not perceiving her— 
D 



^4 MODERN [O'Keefe 

Mrs. Cockle. Don't be afraid Joey, its only 
me. 

Joey. Mercy on us. (tre?nbling) 

Mrs. Cockle. Heavens ! who pulled my 
things about this way ? 

Joey. Now the devil was in our master, that 
he . couldn't let'n bide ; I thought we should 
have her up. (aside) 

Mrs. Cockle. Who did it ? 

Joey. Will it quiet your poor soul ? (fright- 
ened.) 

Mrs. Cockle. Bid Nan make haste down to 
me. 

Joey. Down ! then she's — (points down) Ah, 
these London ladies lead tory rory lives, (aside) 

Mrs. Cockle. Nan. (calls) 

Joey. Don't hurt Nan ; I'll go for a parson. 

\_exit terrified 

Mrs. Cockle. Parson 1 then my intention to 
marry Frank is already known among the ser- 
vants ; but I'll see how Flounce dare to let my 
room be ransacked in this manner. 

[exit in a passion 

SCENE iN^— changes to a dark afiartment'—a table 
Qovered ivith green cloth on. 

enter joey nvith a candle. 

Joey. I've left the parson in the room ; who's 
there ? but he insists it be auld master that's 
dead — the good gentleman that just now with 
me for madam's death cried so fine, all alive and 
merry : but this stupid minister won't believe 
it, so if he meets her there, and her spirit still 
disturbed about her rumplified caps, she'll give 



Act II] ANTIQUES. 35 

it him for certain ; I know nought where mas- 
ter's got to, and the servants seem all to hide. 
3an't find Nan, I would we were both safe again 
.n the country— well, I've saved this drop of 
cordial— who's you ? heaven defend us, she is 
come again ; I have no hopes now but my bot- 
tle and this table. {Jiuts out candle and gets un- 
der the table^ 

enter mus. cockletop. 

Mrs. Cockle. Frank ! (calls) This is the room 
I desired mrs. Camomile to bid him meet n e 
in, and here he comes this way — Frank, [cail^s' 
in a low -voice) I'm glad there's no light though, 
to discover my blushes at the open declara:^':^ 
I must make him. 

enter cockletop. 

Cockle. As dark as an Egyptian catacomb. 
Belinda venturing to town must be on the report 
of her aunt's death, and if Hearty has told her'— 
I'll speak to her here. 

Mrs. Cockle. Are you there ? 

Cockle. Yes, 'tis she. I wish we had, a 
light ; where are you, you little guinea pig ? 

Mrs. Cockle. Eh, my dear, when I bury mr. 
Cockletop — 

Cockle. Bury me. (aside) When for you I'll 
make a mummy of mrs. Cockletop — 

Mrs. Cockle. Angels and ministers 1 it's the 
ghost of my deceased husband come to upbraid 
me — oh much wronged spouse ! 

Cockle. Spouse ! it's the spirit of my wife ! 
oh Lord ! oh great injured goblin 1 (fall on 
their knees at opfiosite sides) 

Joey, Oh here's the parson striving to lay my 



56 MODERN ANTIQUES. [O Keei 

mistress ; but she'll surely tear his head off- 
it's my poor dear master — help, murder I 

enter hearty with candles — mrs. camomile anu. 

BELINDA. 

Mrs, Cam. Eh I what work's here ? 

Joey. My lady's ghost tearing old master to 
pieces {rising in haste^ oversets the table and 
runs off^ 

Mrs. Cockle. Mr. Cockletop alive ! 

Cockle. My wife not dead 1 

Frank. Uncle, you promised that whei 
proved to be deceived in antiquities, Belinda 
should be mine, {speaking in a feigned voice] 
Now zure, besides the fifty pounds, give her to 
poor Taunton Dean. 

Cockle. Was't you ? take her ; I was a wise 
man till my brain got love coddled— so, my dear, 
let's forgive Frank and Belinda, and forget our 
follies. 

Hearty. Come, come, let us transfer our pas- 
sion for ancient virtu to the encouragement of 
modern genius. Had not Rome and Athens 
cherished the arts of their times, they'd hav*^ 
left no antiquities for us to admire. 

Mrs, Cockle. Why rake for gems the ashe- 
of the dead. 
And see the living artist pine for bread. 

Frank. Give, 
While you live. 

Heirs' that find cash in comers, 

Will, at your funeral, make right merry 
mourners. 



THE END. 

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